


Ghosts and Demons

by dragonimp



Series: Waiting [4]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Depression, Gen, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 18:43:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3457745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonimp/pseuds/dragonimp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being in a relationship with Ed means Roy has to face some demons from his past, when Winry confronts him about his role in her parents' deaths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts and Demons

Roy knelt and set the bundle of flowers against the grave marker. His gaze and his hand lingered for a moment before he looked up to the name cut into the marble. It seemed out of place to have such a cold, static marker for a man who had always been so warm and lively.

"Hey Maes." He rocked back into a more comfortable crouch and attempted a smile for his old friend. "It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm sorry I haven't been by . . . I've been busy lately." Roy paused. "That's a weak excuse. It's true I've been busy, but that's no excuse for not stopping by. To tell you the truth. . . ." The former colonel sighed, glancing down at his hands for a moment before looking back up. "To tell you the truth, I haven't wanted to face you. I'm such a coward." He smiled again, a self-mocking smirk. "A stupid, sentimental coward who's been too afraid to talk to his dead best friend."

Roy shifted a bit. "Gracia and Elysia are doing well, but I'm sure you already know that. It's amazing how much Elysia has grown in the three years I've been away. She's going to be a beautiful woman some day, just like her mother—just like you always said." He smiled fondly for a moment, remembering annoying phone calls and endless, endless photographs.

Then he sighed, his smile fading. "Three years . . . that's a long time. A lot of things can happen in three years . . . but not for me. I was dead. Dead to the rest of the world, and dead to myself. I barely noticed the time passing.

"The truth is . . . I gave up. I didn't see any reason to fight any more—I didn't see any reason to _live_ —so I gave up." Roy grimaced, looking down. "Wow. I'd already admitted that to myself, but saying it out loud like this. . . . I _gave up,_ Maes. And I very nearly pulled the trigger."

He was silent for a long moment, watching a light breeze play over the cemetery grass. "It took Edward coming back to make me start living again. To make me even _consider_ it." He snorted, then looked back to the grave marker. "I really am pathetic. I need other people to give me a reason to live, or I need a goal—that other people give me. If I'm protecting people, or commanding people, then I thrive. Otherwise I'm useless. I guess I can't live for myself." He chuckled. "I think I'm some sort of leech, one that sucks strength and courage from the people around him."

_If that were true, then everyone around you would wither, his memory of Hughes countered. Since that obviously doesn't happen—quite the opposite, in fact—then you can't be a leech. Don't be so hard on yourself; you're a leader, Roy, and a leader thrives when people follow him._

The former military commander smiled. "I hope you're right, Maes. But if that's the case . . . I really need this inquiry to go my way so I can get my goddamn rank back. Wish me luck, okay?"

He stood and stretched his legs, looked a moment more at the grave marker, then turned to go.

He stopped abruptly, blinking in surprise at the person standing not ten feet behind him. "Rockbell-san. . . ."

The young woman stared at him for a moment, her face impassive. Then, amazingly enough, she gave him a small smile. "Did you tell him about you and Ed? Gracia-san said he was always bugging you to get married."

He stepped aside as she walked forward and knelt to set her own bundle of flowers next to the marker. "Yes, but. . . ." One side of his mouth pulled back in a what was almost a smile. "Somehow I don't think Edward was quite what he had in mind."

"Still, I think he'd be happy for you." Her smile broadened for a moment. "Did you hear that, Hughes-san? Mustang-san has gotten together with that wayward 'brother' of mine. Maybe he'll actually be able to keep Ed in one place."

Her smile faded as she stood. Roy glanced to her, then away, letting his gaze rest again on the grave. She hadn't made any indicated that she wanted him to leave, but he couldn't think why she would want him to stay.

"Mustang-san," the girl said after a moment of awkward silence, "I'm glad I ran into you. I've been wanting to talk. . . ." She brushed her hair back from her face and turned to look at him. "I know you're not a bad person. How could you be, when all these good people believed in you— _still_ believe in you? So I want to know . . . I want to know how someone such as this could come to kill my parents."

He couldn't help but think how very much she looked like her mother, the same steel-edged determination in her eyes, the same pride. Like both her parents, really. He inclined his head; if it had been anyone else he would try to work around the subject, or flat out refuse to talk about it, but this girl deserved this, deserved anything that was in his power to give. "Perhaps we should go somewhere else. My apartment, maybe?" When she agreed he gestured for them to leave the cemetery. "I'm afraid I don't have a car."

"That's okay. I'm used to walking everywhere. Granny and I have a truck," she explained, "but we only use it for heavy loads. The roads in Resembool really aren't that great."

"Yes, I seem to recall that." There was another moment of awkward silence. "Has Edward . . . spoken with you, then?"

The young woman rolled her eyes. "No. I can tell he _wants_ to, but he's being a coward. He's such an idiot. He's such a . . . he's such a _boy."_

Roy chuckled. "I can't imagine this would be an easy topic for him to bring up."

"No . . . but he's never talked about anything important with me, anyway." Winry folded her arms and glared ahead. "Do you know he never once wrote, the whole time he was off being a state alchemist? He said he meant to, but obviously he never _sent_ anything. Even when we were kids he and Al would go off and leave me out of it. Of course, later I found out they were researching how to—you know, that thing with their mother." She drifted off, then asked suddenly, "Do you have any family, Mustang-san?"

He blinked at the question and glanced at her. "Yes, a mother, in Xing. Otherwise, no; my father died when I was ten, and I never had any siblings."

"Your mother's all the way over in Xing?"

"It's her home," he explained. "The only reason she stayed in Amestris for as long as she did was because she met my father and had me. But _my_ home is Amestris, so I've stayed here."

"I . . . see," she said, although it was clear that she didn't, not really. He didn't think he could sufficiently explain why family would voluntarily separate, especially not to someone who'd lost her own parents so young.

Again they fell into silence. Roy smiled and nodded as they passed someone he knew, a woman he'd been friendly with some years ago.

"That reminds me," Winry said, frowning at him. "Why _Ed?_ Your reputation is with women. And it's _quite_ a reputation, from what I've heard."

"Mm." The former colonel allowed himself a small smirk. "While I can't say it has no basis, something like that has a way of growing on its own. However. . . ." He paused briefly to think. "My tastes have always been . . . _open,_ you could say, but it would have been unwise for me to let that be widely known."

"So, what, you're planning to make Ed hide this?"

"No, not at all. My priorities are different now. My reputation is no longer as much of a concern."

"All right. . . . So when did you start, y'know, _liking_ him? It had to've been before he, um . . . _left,_ but in case you've forgotten," she gave him a hard stare, "he was still a kid back then."

Roy sighed. He could argue that Edward _had_ been of legal age—barely—when he'd disappeared, and that in many ways he hadn't been a child for some time, but that was all beside the point. "No, I've always been well aware of his age." He paused again, as they came to a street corner and waited for traffic. "I've always admired and respected him," he said slowly, "and it's hard to say when I started to see him more as an adult than a child; when I started _noticing_ him, as it were. I believe it was after he turned fifteen, but all I can say for sure is that I was definitely . . . _attracted_ to him that time we fought."

"Fought?" Traffic cleared and they started across the street. "You mean like an actual fight? When did that happen?"

"When he was fifteen he chose to do a battle assessment for his yearly state alchemy qualification. He never told you about it?"

"No; of course not. Like I said, he never tells me anything. So you fought him with alchemy? Who won?"

"It's hard to say. We each had a moment or two during the fight where we could have won. Over all, I'd have to say it was a draw."

"And that's when you started being attracted to him."

"That's when I realized it." They were at his apartment building now and Roy held the front door open for her. "Or rather, that's when I stopped denying it."

"I see."

They continued up to his apartment in silence, one that was less awkward than before, but still not comfortable.

"I'm afraid I'll have to apologize for the mess," Roy said as he unlocked the door. "I wasn't expecting to have company."

"That's okay." She followed him into the apartment and shrugged. "I've seen worse."

Roy shut the door and gestured for her to have a seat at the table. "Would you like some tea?"

"Okay . . . sure. Thank you."

He put water on to boil, then set to straightening up—moving the dirty dishes to the sink and the clothes to the hamper, that sort of thing. It wasn't right for a lady to be subjected to his bachelor habits.

"Mustang-san—you don't need to worry about all that, I really have seen worse."

He smiled slightly as he pulled up the comforter on the bed. "Even so, it's a bit of an embarrassment."

All too soon, the apartment was neatened, and the tea was done, and there were no more distractions. They sat across from each other at the table, neither one quite looking at the other.

"I'm not sure where I should start," Roy admitted. "But I do want to say that I firmly believe that the Rockbells were the only sane people on that battlefield." He took a sip of his tea, then added, "They were the only ones who remembered that the Ishvalans were human beings . . . not faceless _things_ that had to be destroyed."

"But that's what got them killed . . . isn't it."

"Yes . . . but not directly, and not for the reason the military gave. Statistically, it didn't matter. They would help maybe a handful of Ishvalans a day, many of whom would go on to die anyway, while at the same time we were killing scores of them. But they didn't care about statistics, they only cared about what they could do at that moment to help even one person. The statistics were all the military cared about. As for Grand's claim that the clinic was becoming a meeting place for insurgents—complete bullshit." He shook his head. "Anyone who'd ever set foot in that clinic knew there was nothing of the sort going on. But it was an excuse the higher-ups would believe. For all I know they're the ones who fabricated it in the first place."

"But then why?" Winry's fingers tightened on her mug. "It wasn't like they were ignoring the soldiers, was it?"

"No; I was treated by them myself." That had been one of the more awkward moments of his life; they’d kept the soldiers and the Ishvalans as separated as they could, but it had been a small clinic. Luckily his wound had been minor and he'd been able to leave within minutes.

"Then _why?_ Why should they care?"

"Because it's really hard to attack, knowing that you might see the very people you injured in the infirmary, might even be treated along side them, and then have to go back out, and attack them again. The problem wasn't that _they_ remembered the Ishvalans were human—it's that they reminded _us."_ He looked down at his mug, trying to collect some coherency from the swirl of thoughts and memories. He hadn't faced this, really _looked_ at it, since the war. "On the battlefield, the only way to keep your sanity, is to lose a piece of it. You stop seeing the other side as the same as you. You start to think of them as _other,_ maybe even as less than human. That way you don't have to give up the part of yourself that balks at the idea of taking another's life. Not completely. If you don't do that . . . if you don't do that, you risk losing your grip entirely. There were many soldiers who broke down for just that reason. Soldiers who were too fragile, or too kind-hearted. There are others who made it through the war, but then couldn't function afterwards. It's as if they lost so much of themselves on the battlefield that they're stuck there. The war never leaves them."

Roy stopped, and very deliberately took a sip of tea. He needed to watch that he didn't go on about things this girl really didn't need to hear about. "Seeing the Ishvalans being treated the same as the soldiers reminded us that we _were_ the same. _That's_ what Grand and the higher-ups didn't like."

Winry slowly twisted the mug between her hands, then took a drink, and carefully set the mug back on the table. "Okay. Okay, I understand that, I think. But then . . . why you? Couldn't this Grand person have done it himself? What, was he afraid of getting his hands dirty?"

Roy laughed, humorlessly. "You should have Edward tell you about Grand sometime, and then remember that he saw only the barest edges of the man. Oh yes, he could have done it himself. Easily. There were also people he could have ordered who wouldn't have hesitated, either because they were too cowed—or because they enjoyed that sort of thing. But that would only have taken care of one problem, and Grand was ever the opportunist." He sat back and stared at the ceiling for a second, then looked back at the girl he had orphaned. "Much of this is going to be conjecture, but of this I’m sure: Grand _never_ liked me. From the first time we met I rubbed him wrong. And I can't exactly say I was trying not to. But it wasn't simple dislike behind his order; he would have found other ways of expressing that.

"I was . . . popular. Other soldiers were drawn to me. People followed Grand because they feared him. He was a bully. They followed me because they _wanted_ to. And I think that made Grand jealous."

"But I would think the military would want that sort of thing. Someone others would follow."

"Yes, but only if they can control it. Controlled, such a person is a great asset. But uncontrolled, that same person becomes a danger. You see . . . I wasn't the kind to blindly follow orders. Oh, I never _disobeyed_ orders—even when I should have," he added with a grimace, "but I didn't bother to hide the fact that I still thought for myself."

"And they didn't like that."

"No. They didn't. But I was too young and stupid to realize I should care."

He paused again, then finished off his cooling tea. "I believe Grand wanted to prove—to me, to himself, maybe to the Fuhrer—that I could be controlled. That's why he decided to pass the order on to me."

The former state alchemist stared at the brown residue at the bottom of his mug. "That's why I was given the order. But why I followed it . . . I'm not sure I can adequately answer that. It's something that's been gnawing at me for over ten years, but . . . I'm not sure I have an answer. I think the best I can say is . . . I was too afraid to disobey."

He paused for a long moment, staring at the table without seeing it. "Disobeying a direct order in wartime got you more than a black mark on your record. Soldiers who disobeyed were . . . sent away. The official word was that they were stationed elsewhere, away from the fighting, somewhere they couldn't endanger others. But nobody ever heard from then again. We all knew they were using the Ishvalans for—" he grimaced again, "— _experiments._ More like torture in the name of science. There were rumors the missing soldiers were getting the same treatment. Or worse." He sighed. "It was hard not to believe the rumors. Especially with Grand hinting that they might be true. Of course, now I know just how much of those rumors were based on fact, but that's beside the point."

"So you were threatened."

Roy looked up, almost surprised to find the young woman there. He'd gotten far too caught up in the past. "Yes, you could say that. But ultimately . . . I was just too much of a coward. Some orders should never be followed, but . . . I was a coward." She didn't need to know the details. His terror, then detachment, Grand's presence like a dark, imposing monolith at his back, the two quick shots that echoed in his mind, over and over again, drowning out the sound of the two men talking behind him even though the doctors were lying in a pool of blood and the gun was hanging limply from his fingers, and then numbness, disbelief and revulsion—at himself, at Grand, at the military he'd been so besotted with before this god-forsaken war, at the Fuhrer who'd allowed the war to happen—had _made_ it happen. How the shots _still_ rang through his ears at times, as real as if he'd just fired them. It had been kill or be killed, their lives in exchange for his, but that was hardly equivalent. The lives of two exceptional doctors for the life of one lousy soldier who didn't have the courage to refuse a single order. He sighed. "If you're wondering how I could live with myself . . . I couldn't."

She stared at him for a moment. "You mean you—that's the coward's way out! It doesn't solve anything!"

"And, ironically, I was too much of a coward to go through with it," he said with a small smile. "Suicidal thoughts aren't rational, Rockbell-san. But they seem that way at the time. They seem to be the most logical, rational thoughts you could have."

"But—how _could_ they be? That's not—"

"Be glad you don't understand. Hope that you never understand, because nobody should have to feel that level of despair and hopelessness."

Winry opened her mouth, then closed it again and looked off to the side. ". . . I see."

 _No, you don't,_ Roy thought. _And you're better off that way._ "They died with dignity. That probably doesn't come as a surprise to you, but I want you to know. They argued with Grand, but once they saw it was pointless, they just stood there . . . and faced it. No begging, or cowering, or pleading. They were braver than most soldiers I knew, and we were the ones who were _supposed_ to be brave." They'd looked at him with pity. Not anger, they'd reserved that for Grand. Pity. Those looks still haunt him along with the gunshots.

"Of course they were," she said, swiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "They're Rockbells."

Roy inclined his head, and they both fell silent. There didn't seem to be anything left to say.

"Thank you for the tea, Mustang-san," Winry finally said, standing. "And . . . thank you for the talk."

He nodded again. "Of course. Would you like me to call a cab for you?"

"No . . . I'll walk." The young woman paused at the door, then turned around and fixed him with a stare. "Mustang-san . . . Ed's a brat and he's terrible at saying this kind of thing, but he really likes you. I think . . . part of him always has. If you ever hurt him," her glare turned dangerous. "If you _ever_ hurt him, it won't matter where you run because I will _hunt you down."_

"Rockbell-san," he said as he stood, holding her eyes steadily. "If I ever hurt Ed, you won't have to hunt me down. My life will be yours."

They regarded each other a moment more, and then Winry finally nodded and left, pulling the door shut quietly behind her.

* * *

  


A few days later he found himself with an unexpected dinner invitation. Or perhaps "order" would be a better word; Edward had called the night before to tell him Winry'd be going back to Resembool in a couple days and so they were all going out to dinner tomorrow and he was to be there.

"You're sure?"

"That's what she said. She told me to tell you to be there." Edward sighed on the other end of the phone. "You're not going to make me tell her 'no,' are you?"

"No, of course not."

Guilt aside, this young woman reminded him far too much of Hawkeye for him to be comfortable denying such a strongly worded request.

Dinner wasn't as awkward as he'd feared. For one thing, Elysia had inherited her father's gift for conversation, and could always be counted on to cover any uncomfortable pauses. Roy regretted missing the last three years of this little girl's life, and for seeing her only occasionally for the four years before then. One of the many things he hoped to make up for.

But the main thing was Winry's attitude toward him. She was still clearly uncomfortable around him, but it was just as clear that she was making an effort and he made sure to respond in kind. Ed and Al kept looking like they expected something—perhaps Winry—to explode at any moment, but the meal concluded without incident.

Afterwards, she stopped him on the front lawn of the Hughes' house as he was leaving.

"Mustang-san . . . I just. . . ." She bit her lip and looked away for a moment, then took a deep breath. "I just wanted to say—I'm glad you didn't disobey your orders. Back then. It's not like—" She sighed and looked at him. "—It's not like they'd be alive, right? Grand would have just gotten somebody else. And then. . . ." She gave him an attempt at a smile. "And then who would have helped Ed and Al? So . . . I'm glad you didn't disobey."

Roy stared at her for a long moment, trying to think of something, anything, he could say to that. He finally gave up and just bowed to her. There was nothing he _could_ say. She smiled again, a little hesitant, but not forced, and then turned back into the house.

He finally joined Ed in the car. He could feel the young man's eyes on him, and after a moment turned to look at him. "That was . . . more than I was expecting."

"Yeah. . . ." Edward gave him a lopsided grin and started the car, the streetlights reflecting off his glasses as he turned. "But then, she is a Rockbell."


End file.
